


Unbridled Spirit

by SorchaCahill



Series: The Adventures of Young Trevelyan [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Horses, Trevelyan as a child, before she was the Herald, before she was the Inquisitor, need for freedom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-11 16:45:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4443908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SorchaCahill/pseuds/SorchaCahill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before she was the Inquisitor, before she was the Herald, Bríghid Trevelyan was once a young girl who just wanted to run with the horses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unbridled Spirit

                                                                       

 

Bríghid picked at the hem of her dress. She hated it. Her mother had forced her to wear it even though she knew that she hated wearing dresses. They just didn’t agree with her. Her legs inevitably got caught up in her skirts and she’d land face first in the dirt, or worse, in front of whatever nobles were visiting her parents. Dresses were the bane of her existence.

She did rather like the color of this one however. It was a rich green and the fabric was sturdier than most of the other dresses she owned. Bríghid supposed it was due to the nature of the outing. After months of begging she had convinced her father to bring her with him to the races. Her mother had protested, saying it was unseemly for a child her age to attend, but her father had reasoned that if six-year-old boys could attend so could his six-year-old daughter.

There were so many people, more than she would have ever guessed. People of all sizes and ages. But it wasn’t the people that Bríghid wanted to see, it was the horses.

They were just so… majestic and strong and beautiful. She would regularly sneak down to the stables just to look at them. Sometimes she would get lucky and one of the stable hands would let her help brush them down. What she loved most was watching them run. They looked so free, something she envied. Even at the age of six she understood what it meant to be a Trevelyan and as the youngest Trevelyan that meant one day she’d have to join the Chantry. It wasn’t that she hated the Chantry, she just found it boring. And smelly. She hated incense.

But out here, at the races everything smelled fresh and exciting. Stinky, but in a good a way. A way that her mother would definitely not approve of.

She stood next to her father, one hand twisting her skirt around her fingers, one gripping the rail in front of her. Excitement thrummed through her. She was actually going to see a horse race, she still couldn’t believe it.

They had arrived earlier that morning when the sun was barely over the horizon. Mist and fog clung the the hollows of the earth, leaving dew in its wake as the rising sun burned it off. The sun was higher in the sky now and it seemed that she had been waiting for an eternity for the races to start.

Tired of waiting, Bríghid tugged on her father’s coat, demanding his attention.

“Poppa, when are the horses going to come? I want to see the horses race.”

Distracted from his conversation with another noble, Bann Trevelyan looked down at her with a slight frown. “They’ll come along soon, young one. You must practice patience,” he said before turning back to his conversation.

Bríghid scrunched up her nose in displeasure. She hated waiting.

More minutes passed and there was still no sign that the races were about to start. She could hear the horses, hear them nickering, but it wasn’t enough to her, she wanted to see.

Looking up again at her father she could tell that he had pretty much forgotten that she was there. Gnawing on her lower lip, Bríghid calculated just how much trouble she’d get in if she went in search of the horses. Deciding that whatever punishment she received would be worth the risk, Bríghid took one last look at her father before she slipped away into the crowd. She was good at sneaking. Being little helped.

Once she cleared the crowd of nobles she darted through the tents and stalls toward the direction of where she could hear the horses and their handlers. Mud caked her boots and the hem of her dress and though she knew she’d get scolded for it, she didn’t care.

She finally broke through the line of tents into an open area and was brought up short by the sight. Dozens of horses stood in the field, all attended by their handlers. She had never seen so many horses all together in one place, and so many different kinds too! Some she recognized, like the spirited Taslin Striders from Antiva and the sure-footed Dalish All-Breds that the stable master in Ostwick raved about. There was even an Orlesian Courser, though how such a heavy horse could win a race seemed impossible to her.

She kept to the edge of the field, suddenly shy. It had seemed like such a good idea to sneak away to see the horses but now she was simply overwhelmed by the sheer number of them. She tucked her hands behind her back, lacing her fingers together. For the most part the horses and their handlers ignored her besides a few curious glances. She was out of their way and not bothering the horses so in their mind she wasn’t a problem.

Bríghid slowly edged around the field, taking everything in. If she were brave enough she would have gotten closer but she knew enough that most adults didn’t like having children underfoot, especially if they thought they were being bothersome.

A high whinny to her left captured her attention. Set apart from the rest of the horses stood a group of people, men and women larger and wilder than any she had ever seen. They wore furs and skins that barely covered their skin, skin that was covered with paint that made them seem wild and fierce.

Though the people themselves were fascinating, it was the horse stamping impatiently at the ground beneath it that caught her breath.

Even from a distance it looked enormous. Larger than even the Orlesian Coursers but not as bulky. No, this horse’s form was muscular and yet she sensed that it was more agile than the most agile Dalish All-Bred. And it was impatient. Bríghid inched closer and could feel the frenetic energy burning off it. The horse was painted just as the men and women were, but where their paint was white and grey, the horse’s was red against it’s white hide. It was painted in such a way that it almost looked as if it was on fire.

“And what are you doing here, Little Lowlander?”

Bríghid swallowed a yelp and spun around, her feet tangling underneath her as she turned, landing her flat on her butt. She could feel the wet mud soak into her dress but any thoughts of the reprimand she’d receive for dirtying it were banished by the sight of the giant standing over her.

He had to be near seven feet tall and he was built like an ox with muscles so thick she wasn’t sure how what little clothing he wore could contain them.

“Can you speak or has some raven gone and stolen your tongue?”

Realizing that her mouth was gaping open like a fish, Bríghid snapped it closed as she brought herself to her feet. Lifting her chin up, she stared defiantly at the giant, bottling up whatever fear boiled in her stomach.

“I came to see the horses.”

“Did you now? And now that you’ve seen them what do you plan to do? Are you thinking of stealing one?”

“I’m not a thief,” she told him vehemently, conveniently forgetting all the times she had nicked pastries from the kitchen.

“Are you sure? Could be you’re telling the truth. You’re a mite tiny for a thief, Little Lowlander.”

“I’m only small because I’m the youngest. I’m going to get bigger.”

The man blinked at her before tossing his head back, roaring with laughter. “That you will, I suppose, but big or small you could still be a thief.”

Now annoyed at twice being called a thief without cause, Bríghid forgot to be shy and planted her fists on her hips. “I am not a thief, I just wanted to see the horses. I wanted to see them run.”

Unabashed by her temper, he continued chuckling. “A Lowlander with spirit, who would have guessed.” He crouched down so that they were at eye level. Close up, Bríghid could see that the man was around her father’s age, but where her father tried to hide his age, this man seemed to embrace it. “You want to see them run, do you? Then why are you back here. They’re not going to run back here.”

“I know that, but I got bored waiting.”

“I can see that. You Lowlanders do take your time with nonsense, that’s for sure. You spend so much time talking when you can be doing.” He tilted his head at her. “But you seem like more of a doer than a talker. Are you planning to race one of the horses then?”

Bríghid would have loved nothing more but knew that it was impossible.

“I don’t know how to ride.”

For the first time she seemed to have shocked the giant. “You don’t know how to ride?” he shook his head in dismay. “I swear, I’ll never understand you Lowlanders. By the time my sons were your age they could not only ride horses, but race them standing up.”

“Race them standing up? That’s silly. Horses run on four legs, not two.”

He chuckled. “That is true, they do, but I wasn’t talking about the horses, I was talking about my sons. They would race horses, but they would be standing on their mount’s back instead of sitting. One of my sons was known to race upside down. Of course, you would never see such a thing down here. You Lowlanders run a tame race compared to us Avvar.”

“If we’re so boring, then why are you here?”

“Well, to best you of course, though many clans think it’s a waste of time, we take pleasure in taking your horses from you.” Seeing the confusion on her face, he continued. “We bet horses, not your Lowlander money. We win, we take your horse.”

“But what if one of us wins? Does that mean we take your horse?”

“It would, but no Lowlander horse has yet to beat Vidar, and none will.”

Bríghid’s eyes slid to the painted horse. It continued to paw at the ground, as if it too were tired of waiting. Even from twenty feet away Bríghid could feel the tension rolling off the horse, could sense that it just wanted to run and be free. She could identify with that feeling.

“Vidar doesn’t much care for being contained. He’s used to having his own space and not having to answer to anyone but he’s just as fond of beating the Lowlander horses as we are.”

“He looks like he’s on fire.”

The giant roared with laughter again. Bríghid was beginning to worry that he was laughing at her but the expression of joy on his face said otherwise.

“The paint is symbolic of the spirit of fire within him.” He cocked his head to the side. “Would the little Lowlander like to meet him?”

Bríghid could only nod her head. The giant held out his hand, taking her small one in his before leading her over to the small band of Avvar. As they came closer, the group quieted, watching her with a careful and wary eye. She was only aware of that peripherally though as her main attention was on the horse the giant called Vidar.

The horse stopped pawing at the ground as they approached and went still. Bríghid moved forward, not realizing that the giant had released her hand. She didn’t notice the group around her grow silent as she reached up her hand toward the horse’s head. At little more than three feet tall she was way too short to touch him, but after the briefest of pauses, Vidar lowered his head so that her small hand could touch his muzzle. It was softer than she expected, almost delicate, and its whiskers tickled her hand as she stroked its muzzle.

The group of Avvar murmured softly around her, a sense of disquiet falling over them but Bríghid didn’t notice. She also didn’t notice the meaningful glance between the giant and one of the other Avvar. Her world had narrowed down to just her and Vidar. Something thrummed within her, something she couldn’t put a name to.

“Brídgid Gwendolyn Murdina Trevelyan, get away from that horse this instant. What were you thinking running off like that?”

Her father’s voice broke through the spell. Bríghid felt Vidar stiffen under her hand as she turned her head slightly to see her father standing several feet away, his face tight with what some might call fear.

Carefully withdrawing her hand, she turned slightly to her father. “I was just petting the horse, Poppa. They said it was okay.”

“They are Avvar, Bríghid,” he said tightly, his tone indicating something other than their tribe. He made it sound like an insult.

“The little one was in no danger, Lowlander, but if our presence offends you so, you can leave it.”

Bríghid had never seen her father so flustered. Normally he maintained an austere nature, rarely showing emotion, but now he seemed to be showing all of them.

“Come, Bríghid, we’re leaving.”

“But you said I could watch the races.”

“That was before you disobeyed me and ran off. Little girls who disobey do not get rewarded.”

Bríghid stood her ground for several moments, staring down her father. She knew she shouldn’t have wandered off but she couldn’t believe that he wouldn’t let her watch the races.

“Please Poppa, I just-.”

“No, Bríghid, we’re leaving. I should have listened to your mother. This is no place for a young lady to be. Now let’s go.”

Bríghid looked up at the giant who had welcomed her into the group. His face was nearly devoid of emotion except for the little smile at the corner of his mouth.

“Thank you for letting me meet Vidar. It was an honor.”

He simply inclined his head in response before saying, “You better go to your father, Little Lowlander, before he thinks to declare war.”

Bríghid’s eyes widened at that. Her staid and stoic father would never do such a thing? Would he? Not wanting to risk it, she took one last look up at Vidar and could have sworn he winked at her before she trudged back to her father, refusing to bow her head.

As her father grabbed her hand and pulled her away from the field, Bríghid turned her head and took one last look at the group of Avvar. They watched as she left, none of them moving. Her father tugged at her hand, forcing her to walk faster.

“You must never wander away like that again, Bríghid, do you understand? Those barbarians would have kidnapped you without a second thought and you would never see your family again.”

For a split second Bríghid thought that it might not be such a bad thing, not if it meant she never had to join the Chantry, and then felt ashamed at her thoughts. She cared and loved her family, she just didn’t agree with their plan for her.

She just wanted to be free.

***

Baldr, Thane of clan Light-Foot watched the Lowlander tug his daughter away from them as fast as the girl’s feet could keep up. He felt more than heard his clan’s augur step up to his side.

“Are you satisfied then, Gróa?”

“The hold-beast bent to her. No mere person, Lowlander or not, could do such a thing.”

Baldr continued to watch the girl, Bríghid was her name, trail after her father, her dress caked in mud and her hair like fire tumbling down her back. He didn’t want to believe it but Vidar had bowed to her. The girl was special and meant for great things.

“You know what this means then, Baldr, what will come to pass,” Gróa said, her gaze also following after the child.

“It means that what you’ve seen in the fire, the tear in the sky, will come to pass. I do not wish to believe such a thing will happen.”

“Whether you wish it or not, my Thane, it will happen. The Lady of the Skies, her domain will be torn and evil will pour out,” she paused watching the girl until she disappeared into the crowd. “And that child will be the one to heal her.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I was paging through tumblr the other day and came across the photograph above. It's was taken by Émile François Zola around 1890 and it just gripped me by the throat of that's how Bríghid looked when she attended her first horse race. As my canon Inquisitor she's had a long love affair with horses and this is a glimpse as to how it started.


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